


The Man Who Stayed

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Meeting, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, M/M, Matchmaker Mike Stamford, Mostly the happy ending, Mycroft watches but does not appear, The chipmunk is Mike's partner in 'crime.', This little universe is gentler-softer-more heart friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 04:43:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15942035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: Unless you are terrified of chipmunks, there is nothing but joy in this little story. Don't worry, the chipmunk is adorable. Numpty the chipmunk was inspired by Charlotte, Charles and Bob, the three chippies who come to my door each day to personally receive a few peanuts from me. And yes, they are very soft when you pat them....gently and quickly.  And no, I have no clue of their genders.  :)





	The Man Who Stayed

The first day...

The man in black didn’t know what drew him to Postman’s Park that early autumn morning, but there seemed to be something in the air. He was not a believer in karma, kismet, fate, destiny, or even the dreaded coincidence. His lips twitched just a bit at the thought of his brother’s pompous sniff at any mention of that last one. 

A sense of unidentified anticipation akin to a held breath, he reckoned, even as he scoffed at the frivolous thought, wondering, as he had on more than one instance this morning, what had come over him. 

The stroll was not in his standard repertoire of gaits, but it was pleasant enough. Perhaps it was worthy of a second trial, he thought as he rounded a bend in the path and came upon a shaded bench. So surprised that he nearly stumbled, he quickly stepped off the path into the shadows of a copse of Acers to not interrpt the scene before him.

There, at the far end of the bench, sat a lone man, feeding a chipmunk perched on his knee. From his vantage point he could see that the man had an assortment of nuts and fruits which the chipmunk was eager to take from his hand. 

Soon the chipmunk had eaten its fill and scurried away. The man on the bench watched the tiny rodent follow the path until it disappeared into the undergrowth.

Feeling like an intruder, yet unable to turn away, he observed from behind the Acers, as the man lowered his head, chin to chest. When he looked up again there were obvious tears on his face. The man swiped at them with the back of his hand, pushed himself to his feet, took up his walking cane and limped away.

For reasons unknown to him at that moment, he followed at a discreet distant. Perhaps it was simple curiosity, for he was a most curious man. Perhaps it was because he hated not knowing. No matter the reason, he continued on his quest. 

The man kept a surprisingly steady, swift pace. When his quarry took a turn at the end of the path, he quickened his pace. Seconds later he found himself at St. Paul’s and the small man was nowhere to be seen.

More disappointed than he thought appropriate for the situation, he hailed a cab to take him home. 

 

The second day...

He’d spent the rest of that first day and all of the night mulling over his reaction to the man on the bench. No, he never mulled. He rumminated, puzzled things out. Annoyed with himself as he left the Barts lab without accomplishing what he’d gone there to do, he arrived at the bench well before the time he’d happened upon it the day before.

Taking a seat on the bench while waiting, he checked his texts and emails, answering a few and moving on to a bit of research, while keeping a keen ear. 

Hearing the tapping of the man’s cane ahead his footsteps, he barely managed to slip into the trees before the object of his curiosity came into view.

The man dropped to the bench with a heavy sigh, set his cane against the edge of the seat and pulled the plastic container from his jacket pocket. Holding it in both hands, he settled back to wait.

The chipmunk appeared just a few minutes later. When the man offered a grape in his open palm, the tiny creature climbed aboard his transport and was soon perched on the man’s knee. 

“You’re welcome to join us.”

He looked around, expecting to see someone else, but there was no one.

“You, behind the tree there, in the black coat with the collar turned up.”

Stepping out onto the pathway, he approached slowly, keeping an eye on the man, rather than the little beastie nibbling on a grape. 

When he sat down, the man turned to him. “I’d offer my hand, but I don’t want to scare away my little friend here. John Watson.”

“Sh-Sherlock Holmes.”

“I thought you might be.”

“Sorry?”

“Mike Stamford’s description was spot on.”

“Oh.” In five seconds, Sherlock remembered Mike asking if he’d ever visited Postman’s Park. Mike sowed the seed and he’d run with it. Fate, destiny and the dreaded coincidence had an accomplice. 

“Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Your hand.” 

Sherlock slid across the bench to be just a bit closer before obliging John’s request. Soldier, he thought as John placed a grape on his palm and guided his hand toward the little chipmunk.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

  

The third day...

Sherlock was late that day. John was not there, had already gone or maybe he hadn’t been there at all. Maybe he didn’t have physical therapy that day...no, he had been there. There were peanuts on the ground around the bench and one abandoned grape.

He stood next to the bench, bitterly disappointed to have missed John and surprised at the depth of his disappointment.

Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket when it pinged the arrival of a text.

Are we to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week? -MH”

Shut up, Mycroft -SH

Turning off the phone, he returned it to his coat pocket. A rustling in the undergrowth preceded the appearance of John’s little friend. Sherlock bent down to offer the grape, which was accepted. They stared at each other as the fruit disappeared, followed by the chipmunk. Nobody stays, he thought as he turned away. 

It wasn’t until he reached the black door at Baker Street that he realised he’d walked all the way home with nothing but John Watson on his mind.  
Mrs. Hudson greeted him just inside the door. “Sherlock, there’s a nice man upstairs waiting for you. I put him in the comfortable chair by the fireplace.”

He grimaced. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”

The last thing Sherlock wanted to do was speak with a client, but he took the stairs two at a time, intentionally stepping on the creaky one to announce himself. He tossed his coat onto the sofa before turning to the sitting room.

“Sorry to keep you waiting...John?”

Obviously startled from sleep, John cleared his throat but didn’t look up at first. Sherlock noticed the nervous twitching of his left hand.

"I looked you up on the internet last night.”

“Oh.” This is the end then, Sherlock decided, before even the possibility of a beginning.

Embarrassment in the form of a flush creeping up John’s neck was more than Sherlock could ignore.

“What’s wrong?”

John didn’t answer right away, just continued to stare down at his hands.

“John?”

John drew in a deep breath, still staring at his hands.

“I couldn’t pay my rent at the horrible bedsit where I was staying. I have nowhere to go that I can afford that isn’t...just as horrible. I thought you might know some charity place-”

“Here, you can move in here...if you want to, I mean, if that’s okay. I’m not the best flatmate, but, we can get your belongings right now?”

“I have them...here,” John whispered, still not looking up at him.

One small duffle, a wooden box, and what looked like a medical kit. That was all Sherlock saw next to the chair.

“You’ll move in here and I won’t take no for an answer. Please, John.” He realised he was begging, but he didn’t care.

Finally, when John looked up at him, his eyes red-rimmed and teary, Sherlock crouched down and reached out to curl his fingers around John’s smaller, sturdy ones. Whatever John needed, he thought, making a silent promise. 

“I have nightmares and PTSD.”

“I don’t sleep much. I play the violin at all hours. I’m not neat and tidy as you must be. And I’m a high-functioning sociopath,” Sherlock announced, swiping at an errant tear streaking down John’s cheek. “That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?” 

“But don’t you have friends you’d rather share your flat with instead of a stranger? I mean, instead of me?”

“I don’t have friends, John.” The promise of something extraordinary fluttered hesitantly in his heart. “I’ve just got one.”

Delighted that the man didn’t look away, Sherlock hoped that whatever it was John searched for in his eyes was reflected back to him.

“Will you stay?” Sherlock whispered. 

John held his gaze for a long moment while Sherlock held his breath. “Yes.”

The fourth day...

“Bringing home strays again, brother mine?” 

Mycroft's voice was not clear. On the move, Sherlock suspected.

“John is no stray, Mycroft, he’s a very good doctor and a former soldier.”

“Indeed.”

“Don’t. Whatever you know about him, keep it to yourself.”

“Very well, he is your mystery to solve.”

“Mycroft?”

“Hm?” 

“Just tell me...if-”

“No worries, Sherlock.”

His heart skipped a beat or two. “Fine.”

“He is, indeed.”

And so began the legend.

  

A bit of an epilogue...

  

Sherlock burst through the open door, startling John as he worked on his laptop at the sitting room table. “John! I found someone.”

“Sherlock, calm down. Thanks to you I have two rows of Rs on my synopsis of our last case.”

“But, John, this is much more important.”

When John closed the laptop and turned his attention to him, Sherlock couldn’t help beaming.

“So who is this someone and why is it so important?”

“You’re finishing up your physical therapy this week and you’re worried about what will happen to your little rodent-”

“Chipmunk, Sherlock, it’s a chipmunk.”

Sherlock tried, no but very, to keep from chuckling. “I’m surprised you haven’t named it,” he gently teased.

John looked away and didn’t respond. 

“You did name it. Tell me.” Sherlock chuckled.

“Numpty,” John whispered.

“What is it?”

“Okay, okay, Sherlock. I named it Numpty because I couldn’t decide on a name that would suit since I didn’t know if Numpty is a he or a she.”

“Shouldn’t a doctor know those things?”

“I’m not a vet, Sherlock, and as a genius you should know that there is a considerable anatomical difference between humans and animals.”

“Numpty, very original, by the way, although it is an animal, it is technically a rodent.”

“Still an animal. Shut up, Sherlock.”

“John.”

“Just get on with it and tell me your important news.”

“As I started to say, John, since you are soon to be finished with your physical therapy, you will not be occupying the bench at Postman’s Park every morning.”

“I know,” John whispered.

“I have made arrangements for Jamie, one of my acquaintances at the Homeless Network, has agreed to watch over...Numpty...in your absence. Jamie likes animals and the shelter she inhabits is not far from the park. I have arranged a trust, if you will, for Jamie to manage the care and feeding of Numpty in your absence.”

“Sherlock, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, John, I wanted to help. If you are free tomorrow, we can go over so you can meet Jamie and say goodbye to your little friend.”

“Maybe I could visit once in a while.” John sighed, a sadness flickering in his eyes. “I’m going to miss the little guy. Or girl.”

“You’ll still have me, John.”

When John wrapped an arm around his head and kissed his crown, Sherlock sighed, leaning into the embrace.

“Yes, I’ll still have you.”


End file.
